Beneath the Tryst
by darklyromantic
Summary: A midnight scene of two lovers meeting, as one spurned lover watches. RLSS & RLSB implied. SLASH
1. Sirius Black

**Beneath the Tryst.**

**Summery:** A midnight scene of two lovers meeting, as one spurned lover watches. RL/SS & RL/SB implied.  
**Warnings:** Some minor male/male references. There's a little more as the parts go along.  
**Disclaimer:** I didn't and I don't, and if I had and did, I wouldn't be here.  
**A/N:** This began life as a rather messy, very frustrated mind explosion, casually splattered on a page.  
Not much about it has changed since then. :)

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**Part One: Sirius Black.**

He stood hidden, deep within the cover of the quiet night's embrace. The frozen air breathed around him, his fur was gently ruffled by the breeze. On four huge paws, on uneven ground, he stood and watched the sleepy world.

The hushing sounds of far away waves spread out over the darkened grounds, as the lake swam within itself, below. The echoed sounds of things moving within the forest pricked his ears, teased his senses, and tried to steal his mind away.

The castle loomed, intimidating, yet inviting, above, across the way. The many ghosts, trapped within the stone, pressed themselves as a heavy weight inside his chest, whenever his hollowed, amber eyes flicked over it. Windows sparkled where they lay, punched within the moulding walls. Their glowing lights danced quickly, in hypnotic rhythm with the moving of the air, betraying their fragile, candle sources. 

Then, with lowered muzzle, and pressed almost flatly to the ground, he watched the grotesque, nightly scene calmly unfold again. Two figures wound their way together through the darkness, heading over to the moving, breathing forest.

Small growls of almost uncontrollable anger rumbled in his throat as he watched, watched and could do nothing once again.

One figure, looking almost as if it was made from merely shadows of the night, waited, its black cloak billowing almost invisibly around the shining, pale skin. It stood and, with its usual breathless grace, waited.

The second form, dressed from head to foot in a frayed, dull grey cloak, that only just paled in hue from the inky midnight blackness, made its unsteady and unfaltering way towards the waiting first. It slipped once on stone and earth, but moved quickly up and onwards, only watched and never helped on by the other.

When, finally, they meet, they stand, merely feet apart and wait once more. Under starry sky, under cloak of night, they touch again, as always. Always at first they make slow hesitating movements, wanting to close the final distance that parts them, yet enjoying those long moments of delicious anticipation.

He remembers those rare few moments, when they were rightfully his own. He remembers them too vividly, too well; his thick, strong tail almost sways with ecstasy at the memory alone, at the rising ghost of countless nights unspoken and untold. Almost sways again with things strangely shared in silence, until he stilled himself to simply _watch_ the thing, transfixed, transposed, alone.

Then, all at once, inevitably, and with total lack of grace, a passionate kiss brings the distant ones together, without any thought of him. Desperate hands now searched for the sorely missed touch of aching, waiting flesh. Even though this is always the end of the scene, and every night that didn't hold a full moon within it at its centre, held this sight instead, they still tangle as if this is the first and last forbidden touch allowed.

What was once silent, simmering anger is now fury, hurt and rage. The feral growl, only just suppressed before, escapes him now and cuts the night. The sound itself reached those two figures, far away. But now together, now embracing, now down upon the ground, not even the chilling anguished sound of the lost, spurned lover can break them any way apart.


	2. Severus Snape

**Beneath the Tryst.**

**Story notes:** This is Severus Snape's POV of the scene described by Sirius Black in the first part of the fic.  
**A/N:** This part was (scarily) my fave part to write :) I had fun being **DARK** (with caps lock!), with a halfway reasonable excuse. Thanks for the nice reviews :D they're very much appreciated and given a good home.

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**Part Two: Severus Snape.**

He stepped into the folds of the night, while somewhere a distant, unseen clock chimed the midnight hour. With the first thrill of the castle's circling wind, his thin fingers clutched a heavy cloak, tight around his slim, pale frame; a thicker skin of shadow black. Wind swept hair lazily swung to whip his half closed eyes, but his mind is weighted enough to block the sting. Heavy thoughts clamber, their number and darkness swelling with each circle of progression, before finally being turned away, and left alone, ignored.

With sudden shock, he sees himself now far from the simple, warming glow of the castle's lighted halls. As the ground under foot becomes both wilder and more and more untamed, as the rocks lay undisturbed by other passing feet, as the cover of the forest grows thick, he slows. Once unable to find excuse to move still further, only now does he stop and, with one graceful move, turn to wait again.

With the newfound sense of an uneasy custom, his dark eyes roam and wonder, roam and take in the surrounding, gloomy grounds. In his own, locked mind he tries not to see, tires not to watch. But his eyes, with keenest sight, now mutinously move to take in the figure stumbling before him, stumbling forever closer over the quickly fading gap, closing the distance over the darkened path.

He cannot help but look now; he sees the shining, sweating face approach, feels the air grow to into a thick and suffocating state. He loves this being; he wants it, but somewhere underneath it all, it changes. Pure loathing threatens, anger, hate, waiting to consume the rest, if he were just to let it loose from its dark cage. It wants, it screams, to be let out, to make this pathetic, little thing writhe, and suffer beneath it.

This _thing_ before him, this thing at his feet, it helped make his young years hell. It's friends forever made him the fool, while it stood standing idly by. With everything he had, he would give his pleading eyes; implore this thing to comfort him, to stand with him, to hold him only once. It saw it, he knew that, and yet it never did.

And now it stands, wrapped in tattered robes. Its scarred and gentle, trusting eyes gazing so intently back. Nothing in their warm, brown depths reflects the ice he feels. It knows nothing of the darkness that loathes its very life; it's so close and yet so very far.

It – _he_ – reaches out, touches empty air, stops merely inches short, not wanting to close the distance, not wanting to take responsibility, control. This worn figure knows that this is how it should forever be, control should never fall or lie solely with him. And yet, that hesitating hand has somehow broken the spell of spiralled pain, the hatred flows away. Warmness fills the empty space, and now he reaches back.

With no more thought, his black robed arms surround the brittle other man. His desperate hands explore the body, as it breathed as urgently as him. As they kiss, he pulls them down to kneel upon the ground. Their mouths now met in hungry, bruising embrace, his smooth lips pressed so hard against the rough and scraping, scarred ones.

And as they kiss, an echoed sound flows around and over them; the sound of a distant animal's anguished howl. But nothing now, nothing in the whole, entire world, can break those bonds between them; nothing can break this final spell.


	3. Remus Lupin

**Beneath the Tryst.**

**Story Notes:** Yup, it was inevitable. This is Remus Lupin's view on the scene. How could I forget him?  
**A/N:** This is probably the part I'm happiest with, I just kinda like the way it came out.  
(Er, that should probably read: I like the way I _think_ it came out :) ) Thanks to Jenni who made me post this, and reads all my junk even though she hasn't read the books. Also, a scary, and almost creepy, amount of thanks for the reviews so far :D

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**Part Three: Remus Lupin.**

For eternities he has waited for the sounding of the chimes, each daylight moment spent urging them to come, yet when the first one echoes he wishes for a longer wait. With racing heart, with cold, sweating skin, he moves with clumsy gait. The chimes end, the corridor ends, and now he is outside at last and all too soon.

Past the circle of the weak castle cast light, down deeper into night and grounds, he walks. His frayed and ragged cloak offers no true protection from the air, it chills him now, down through to bone, but there is no time, no place to care. The frozen breeze breathes sharply and stings along his face. The ground and stones beneath his feet are slippery and damp with growing frost. He slips once, and then again, and then he carries on.

He walks towards his destination now, without even looking up. Always in the same place, always watching, waiting there, was the one he moves towards.

Now he is close, now he looks up to see that pale face looming, as if magically supported only by the shadows of the night. For a moment, but no more, he sees a transposed sight, of wild and black, untamed hair, flowing over a long lost handsome face.

But then it's gone, and there instead resides the oil heavy head of limp, lifeless hair that he has stronger eyes for now. Beneath the crinkled, conflicted brow, etched upon the other face, lie fathomlessly deep, dark eyes, watching him intently.

Finally he reaches his usual place, stood just inches from his lover's frame. The eyes alone betray the thoughts, the echoes of silent emotions flash. At once a familiar feeling comes, provoked by that half cold, steely gaze. An urge to turn, an urge to run, an urge to touch a shaking hand to his protective wand, is only overruled by lust, by love, and by pure determination.

For far too long, he had given in to that projected rage and hate. Now finally, when he knew he could, he would never run from any chance to touch the man before him. This would be his only chance for hours, so now he stands, roots himself upon the spot, and, though shifting oh so slightly, stills his hand from its unasked motion. All he wants to say, he puts into his gaze, sets it in his eyes, and reaches out one unsure hand, inviting the other man to move away, or else to move to take him. He knows, too well perhaps, he cannot move to far or first. Control does not, _should_ not, ever rest with him.

And then all thought is torn away, as his lover takes him swiftly in the strong circle of his arms. The forest itself takes one deep breath, and writhes in unison with them, mirroring their every move. The kiss deepens as he is pulled down, onto bended knees. His mouth is lost to deep embrace, the way it should always be.

But something stands, some distance away, it stands and watches them. He only sees a flash of fur, from out the corner of his eye. He only hears a fraction of the ringing, anguished cry, and only with half a heart he thinks of his old lover, his place now forever lost to new.


	4. Irreparably Together

Beneath The Tryst.

**This Part's Notes:** This part has violence in it. Not detailed, but I thought I should note it. And thanks, as always, to Jenni, for her checking, encouragement and rant-putting-up-with-ness.  
**A/N:** Okay, I hadn't intended to write any more for this one. But I just had the strange notion that I needed to do one to bring it together in a way. I'm really not sure about this part. If this is one part too far, comment and lemme know. I'll take it down, we'll pretend I didn't, and I'll skip off merrily in the other direction.

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**Part 4: Irreparably Together.**

Finally the dawn begins to break. The lovers move apart. He is free to breathe again, and simply _watch_ the thing no more.

Inside, his heart beats faster, in his head lives disgust, and hate and rage. On four stiff, seized up, huge black paws, with hollowed, sick stomach dropped to someplace else outside himself, all logic gone, all his old love lost, he bounds haphazardly towards the _other_ pair.

One man, up in front, draped in tattered robes, has almost reached the door. The safety of the castle looms, but for now his haven sits, horribly, too far away. Before he reaches the diminishing loving warmth of the glow of fire embers dying with the morning light, the scorned one timely leaps.

In flash of fur and teeth and with the amber, tearless eyes, full of burning rage, he takes the ragged man down to roll on unforgiving ground. This _betrayer_ stands no chance at all against the one betrayed. With all the strength of dog, with all the rage and hate of cruelly broken love, he bites and rips and tears. The flesh beneath his onslaught breaks, and splits, then bleeds.

The man in black, stood merely steps away, at first cannot bring himself to move. Held too tightly within the grip of horror-tainted shock, his only moves towards his wand are clumsy, jerked and all too slow.

By the time his tangled wand is freed, he sees the damage on his lover grow to almost mortal wounds. It slows him down another notch, till finally he shouts.

With one screamed word, and pointed wand, a flash flies straight into the beast, and it sends him reeling back. In mess of limbs, of paws askew, of black fur tinged with blood, the dog spins through empty air, to crash down hard upon the frosted, dew soaked earth.

When it stands again, it bares its teeth, and then it changes stance. It stands as if ready to strike, to bite, to rip, and bleed anew. Its shoulders shift, visibly, beneath its skin, it voices threatening growls. But then from nearby ground, the now injured man moves as best he can.

He moves in pain, and bleeding, stretching on the ground. He lifts a pleading hand towards the dog, and as it seems to see the matching pleading eyes, it stops. At once it relaxes its stiff, yet ready stance, and then it turns to leave. Just like that it pads away. But, before it turned, the dark cloaked figure is sure he saw both great regret and sadness, buried in the beast. It walked as if it knew, as if it were a person, desperately sorry, and irreparably, grotesquely _hurt_.

In that one moment, in one indefinable amount of time, the darkest figure knows the beast. He knows - he's _felt_ - that pain, all too much himself. In weird understanding, but lost within complete confusion, he lets the animal escape. He lets it walk away. He turns then, quickly, to the fallen man where he still sits and bleeds.

As he walks away, the dog turns one last time to look. He thought, he wished, he might have stopped it all, ended it right there. But kneeling on the ground again, locked now in an act of love, and not in throws of near excusable, dark passion, were the two figures, once again embracing. The darker of the two, with wand raised and waving neatly through the air, gently healed the other.

Now he knew, as he skulked away, alone, his one true love was lost to him, forever gone away. But twisted mind and battered heart said with bitter voice, not simply gone away, but forever somehow _led astray_.


End file.
